FOX-HUNTING IN NEW ENGLAND 41 



sinks into it, he will soon, through fatigue or fear 

 of being caught, take refuge in den or burrow. If 

 the snow has a crust which bears him, but through 

 which the heavier hounds break at every step, he 

 laughs them to scorn as he trips leisurely along at a 

 tantalizingly short distance before them. Hunting 

 in such seasons is weary work, and more desirable, 

 , then, is the solace of book and pipe by the cozy fire- 

 side, where the hounds lie sleeping and dreaming of 

 glorious days of sport already past or soon to come. 

 In winter as in autumn, the sport is invigorat- 

 ing and exciting, and Nature has, now as ever, her 

 endless beauties and secrets for him who hath eyes 

 to behold them. To such they are manifold in all 

 seasons and he is feasted full, whether from the 

 bald hill-top he looks forth over a wide expanse of 

 gorgeous woods and fields, still green under Octo- 

 ber skies, or sees them brown and sere through 

 the dim November haze, or spread white and far 

 with December snows. The truest sportsman is 

 not a mere skillful butcher, who is quite unsatis- 

 fied if he returns from the chase without blood upon 

 his garments, but he who bears home from field and 

 forest something better than game and peltry and 

 the triumph of a slayer, and who counts the day not 

 lost nor ill spent though he can show no trophy of 

 his skill. The beautiful things seen, the ways of 

 beasts and birds noted, are what he treasures far 

 longer than the number of successful shots. 



